I once lived at the base of Mingus Mountain in central Arizona.
Mingus separated the folks of Cottonwood, where I lived, from our friends and neighbors to the south in Prescott.
Both sides of that rugged, broad-shouldered mountain were beautiful. We didn’t share the Sonoran Desert landscape that defines Phoenix and Tucson. There was no saguaro cactus pointing this way and that.
This was high desert, with grasslands, scrub oaks and deeply scented forests of juniper and pinion pine.
Summers are tricky in these parts.